A Birthday Get Together
by sherlockfanatic
Summary: Sherlock invites Molly to the Holmes' manor for his mother's birthday dinner, but they have more in mind than supper. WARNING: LARGE AMOUNTS OF SMUT TOWARDS THE END. Sherlolly established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

The car pulled up slowly to the great house at the end of the drive. It was barely dusk in the late June day but the was still sufficient light for Molly to duck her head down and gaze at the architecture. The Holmes manor was located near Oxford, and seven generations of Holmes' had been born and raised within its walls, including Sherlock and Mycroft. No wonder the boys are so up themselves, Molly thought to herself, they grew up in a palace for god's sake! She continued driving until she reached the gravel driveway just outside the main door. Every different type and model of car seemed to be parked on the same stretch of gravel as she, and she checked herself to make sure her skirt had not ridden up during the journey from London. She had been invited by Sherlock, who she had been seeing for two months now, to spend the weekend down at his Mother's for her birthday 'get together' in an attempt to find the evening more tolerable. She had bought a new dress especially for the occasion and it fitted her beautifully. The emerald green silk-like material clung to her small but curvatious form and she looked like a 1940's film star. The dress had small; spaghetti straps so she had opted for no bra, leaving her feel slightly vulnerable. God I hope it doesn't get cold in there. She thought to herself, picturing the horrid scene in the back of her mind. She had retreated to the hair dressers earlier that afternoon, and she had had it 'volumised' and curled, framing her delicate face beautifully. She grabbed her hand bag from the passenger seat and exited the car, attempting to seem graceful and poised in case anyone was watching. She began the walk to the door and was met half way by the tumbling mess of black curls that was Sherlock. He was in a tuxedo, bow tie included, which had been obviously fitted to his requirements. The trousers were fitted and the shirt as always was taught enough to see the marble outlines of his torso. She sighed at his appearance, congratulating herself once again at her conquest. Their first month of the relationship had been a steep learning curve, mostly for Sherlock. He had no knowledge of the physical side of a relationship, so each night for the first three weeks, Molly would teach him. He knew her weaknesses and she his, both finding the lessons rather stimulating.

"Hiya Sherlock" Molly said to him as she lightly kissed him on the lips.

"Hello my dear" Sherlock responded, his voice like a low strung cello. "Mother's being irrational as usual, she's had far too much to drink for a woman aged her age. Mycroft's handling it though, so the family secrets won't be scattered into the wind.'

"Oh really? What kind of secrets?" Molly puzzled.

"Now they wouldn't be secrets if I told you Molly." Sherlock exasperated. She loved to irritate him, knowing that he couldn't lash out at her in his usual retorts. Otherwise, he wouldn't be getting his lesson tonight.

He loved the company of Dr Hooper and relished their nights together. His desire for her he found couldn't be contained to just her house or his flat. They had had encounters in the lab, during lunch hours, in cabs the list went on. Each time, he felt he wouldn't be able to contain himself to just 'encounters'. He felt he needed to have her. Right then, right there.

"I had better meet the famous Mrs Holmes then, before we sit down for dinner I mean." Molly said, checking her watch and seeing it was only fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to sit down for dinner.

"Yes, you better had. Mycroft kindly informed her of your impending arrival. Oh and by the way, that dress looks simply stunning on you." He said, silently moving his hand to the small of her back and guiding her through the door. The interior was exactly like the villain's country house from a Bond film. Every wall was plastered with mahogany and the floor was much the same, only parquet. People milled about around the couple, and they bee lined for the drawing room where Mrs Holmes resided.

"Mother? Mother, this is Molly." Sherlock gently pushed her in the direction of his mother and she whipped her head around in fear.

"Hello Mrs Holmes, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hope Mycroft hasn't said anything too bad about me."

Mrs Holmes slowly gazed her eyes over Molly, taking in the incredible dress and soft brown eyes. My my, she thought to herself, my son has chosen well. She continued to chat to Molly throughout the evening, enjoying her innocence and interest in her now deceased husband. Her bemused son watched them both, resembling his father strikingly. The shrill tinker of a bell herded the vast number of people into the dining room, soup bowls already prepared at the table. Sherlock sat on the left side of the never ending table, slap bang in the middle and beckoned to Molly, who was looking confused as she entered the room. Every guest, one by one, filed into the expansive dining room and stood behind their chairs, waiting for the guest of honour to appear. Sherlock reached for Molly's hand which was currently residing on the back of her chair, and inched his little finger to intertwine with hers, letting their hands fall to their sides. She glanced up and caught his startlingly bright eyes staring into her own boring ones.

"I hope she didn't irritate you too much, my mother I mean." Sherlock apologised.

"No, I rather like your mother actually! She's very lovely, despite your harsh words Sherlock." Molly scolded.

"ha! Don't make laugh, that woman could irritate god if he were real."

"Oh hush, you! She's coming" Molly said, indicating to yet another mahogany door that lead from the drawing room to the dining room. Mrs Holmes walked in with grace and poise, despite her crippling arthritis. The room, which had been filled with idle chatter suddenly stilled, and a sombre silence took its place. She smiled and drew a deep breath:

"My friends and my dear sons, I am delighted that you all arrived safely and in good cheer. Now, please, take your seats and our first course shall be served swiftly. Please ask the waiters for any information regarding the meal, don't be bashful." The last comment received a chuckle from a few of the guests, despite none was required. The idle chatter resumed as everyone took to their seats, ignoring the servers as they doled out the portions of pea and parsnip soup. Molly and Sherlock were directly opposite Mycroft, and Sherlock watched in humour as Mycroft sucked up to a government official sitting beside him. He and Molly seemed to be surrounded by an enclosure of peace amidst the violence of sound emanating from the other diners. Their fingers were still intertwined between their seats and Molly shifted her hips round to look at him. He mirrored, staring down at their hands.

"Your house is incredible." She almost whispered to him. "what was it like growing up here?"

"I hate this house. It stands for everything I hate: pomp and ceremony. It's unnaturally big for just my brother and my parents, and I was never allowed to inquire." He responded, still staring at their hands.

"Never allowed to inquire? What do you mean?" Molly, sensing his face cloud over with memory.

"I wasn't allowed to question. Ridiculous, really. If mother said it was so, it was so. If my father said do this, then it was done. Never any reason, never any logic. It irritated me." He shrugged. His brow furrowed as he thought of the days when his only companion was a book on wildlife in Britain. The Molly took his whole hand and clasped it tight.

"Don't worry about it, you don't live here anymore. You can inquire all you like with me." She smiled. His eyes still hung low, his chuckle rumbled in his chest, god he was sexy when he did that she thought. She pulled their intertwined hands onto her lap and under the table as the server came round to them. She gave his hand one last squeeze and let go to collect her spoon and begin the meal. However, his hand did not move to his side and instead slid to the right and up, to rest on the top of her thigh. A blush blossomed over her cheeks and she hurriedly glanced at him in anxiety. He shifted his chair closer to hers, perfectly concealing their encounter within the folds of the table cloth and the tangle of chairs.

"Sherlock! Not now!" She hissed, trying to ignore the heat spreading around her groin. Sherlock smirked, acknowledging her dilated pupils and her clenched fist on her lap. She was starting to become aroused indefinitely. He picked up his spoon in his right hand, keeping his left still resting on her thigh and spooned the hot soup into his mouth. He cringed at the heat and taste. He had never favoured pea and parsnip, and the heat scolded his tongue slightly, causing it to smart. He placed his spoon on the saucer surrounding the bowl. Molly took the spoon from her saucer, deciding to continue the encounter instead of diminishing it. After all, she was getting something out of it. The soup tasted expensive, yet the taste was too sweet and she gulped only a few mouthfuls down before setting down her spoon. She was desperate not to be rude and not eat it at all. Sherlock tried to turn to Molly, wanting to advance their encounter but was snagged into a conversation involving his line of work. He couldn't resist the urge to brag, after all, he was not a modest man.

Molly was also caught in a conversation to her left, a line of enquiry from a friend of the family, inquisitive on how she and Sherlock had met. She briefly her line of work and then his, her infatuation (although she described it as 'a liking towards him'), and their eventual unification. She excluded the segment where she hid him in her house after faking his death, deeming it too complicated to explain over dinner. His hand was still resting on her thigh, but had began to trace patterns over the silk, edging closer and closer to her inner thigh. The heat began to rise again both in her groin and her face: the blush sweeping over her cheekbones.

Both conversations seemed to drag to them, and they desperately wanted to return to the utopia of concealed quiet. The next course was served: chicken liver pate with melba toast and a variety of chutneys. Each attempt at returning to their sanctuary of each other was barred by another separate line of enquiry. The course was filled with the conversation of others, while his hand remained on her thigh. The barely touched pate of Sherlock and Molly was cleared away by the men in white, and each of their mundane conversations finally ran dry. They finally turned to each other smirking at each other, relishing in the feeling that no one knew what they were doing under the table cloth. His slender fingers edged their way further into the gap and she opened her legs just a slight more, inviting his touch. Even through the material of her dress, her body reacted the same way at his touch. She considered pulling up the hem of her dress and reached down, but was stopped short when a server placed the main course of seared duck with a summer salad and orange dressing. Both Sherlock and Molly were once again pulled apart by conversation on each corresponding side. The heat between her thighs was becoming unbearable, and her breaths becoming lightly faltered. They both, once again, barely touched their meals and his hand remained were it had comfortably rested. Their plates were cleared away, but their peace was not granted and they remained locked in conversation. He began to stroke in small circles with his thumb, edging closer and closer to her sex. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from whimpering. Her nipples were beginning to harden, pebbling within the covering of her dress. I hadn't prepared for this she thought; she hoped it wasn't obvious to the other diners. She wasn't sure how much more teasing she could take from him. She slowly slid her left hand to his thigh, feeling the fabric strain around his cock. He was feeling the same sort of thing then. He glanced down at her hand in surprise, gritting his teeth, his own indication of arousal. Their independent conversations continued, ignorant to the change within one of their participants. The dessert soon followed, ignored by Sherlock and Molly and they sat in comfortable silence, hands still in their respective places. The plates were cleared and the congregation was scattered in high spirits as Mrs Holmes found herself struck down with tiredness. She had been the only one at the table to notice her youngest son and his new accomplice pleasure each other from under the table. She smiled to herself, pleased to see her son indulge himself in the normal pleasures of a man, but frowned at the timing of it all. At her birthday supper? Hardly appropriate, she thought, especially with this number of guests. She left the room quietly, trying not to make a fuss as she took herself up to bed.

Back in the dining room, Molly and Sherlock were becoming impatient for each other. Her hand had wondered further and now was placed over his half-erect penis. His fingers had begun to massage her near her opening. Luckily for them, the rest of guests exited the dining room including Mycroft and they managed to leave each other alone long enough to leave the room. The loss of each other's touch had caused them both to groan with tension. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the large staircase only to falter at the last step. The unison laugh that could only be produced by a large group of men wafted out from a cracked door. Sherlock cursed under his breath.

"That was my old room" he said, gritting his teeth out of frustration. "Mother must have converted it into a smoking room of some kind." He had to have her. Now. But he had no idea where he could without being disturbed. A sudden thought sprung to his head and he dragged her down the staircase once more, tuning left into a small corridor. His strides were incredibly long and she found it difficult to keep up. They sped through what seemed at a quick glance as a waiting room, complete with reception desk and embroidered waiting chairs. He continued on into a luxurious study, lined with bookcases and a large wooden desk sat in the centre. He switched on the accountant's light on the desk, his hand still firmly clasped over hers. He turned to face her, smirking at her flushed cheeks and obvious arousal. She soon wiped the smirk off his lips with a forceful kiss. He was pushed against the bookcase, the spines of his father's cherished collection sticking into his back. His hands found her waist and he slipped his tongue over Molly's lips. She returned his advance, opening her mouth in response and their tongues intertwined. She moaned breathily, releasing the tension that had built up between them during the endless meal. His hands wandered over her back, applying small amounts of pressure with his fingernails through the dress, sparking shivers within her. He's learnt well she thought, the tension she recognised from before began to mount in the belly. Her nipples were rock solid by now and his hands moved from her back to her front, gently caressing her stomach and cupping her right breast in his palm. He stroked the small pebble of flesh with his thumb over the emerald material and she tipped her head back in ecstasy, a moan escaping from her small lips. He gently pinched and the heat in her belly rose incredibly fast, another louder moan seeping from her lips. He returned to her lips, whilst dragging the front of her dress down only to find that it jarred. He broke from her lips, frowning down at her chest. Exasperated, she reached behind her back and zipped the dress down, the material folding down in front of her and revealing her breasts. His once half mast erection stood fully to attention at the sight of her half naked body. He kissed her between her breasts before making his way to her nipple. He took it between his teeth and pinched it tighter than before. Her gasp echoed around the empty room and her back arched into him. Her hand instinctively moved to his groin, cupping and rubbing the tent which had formulated. He jerked ever so slightly and straightened his neck, bracing both arms above her head on the bookcase. She undid his trousers and slid his boxers down to his lower thigh. She took his length in her hand and ghosted her fingers up and down the shaft. His body almost convulsed and he groaned deep within his throat. The art of passion was patience and tension, both of which were presiding in the study they inhabited. He recovered quickly, although his breaths still ragged. She immediately clasped her hand around the shaft, smirking at his grimace, and began to run her hand up and down. His pre-cum offered as an effective lubricant and he was obviously on the tipping point. She grabbed his hand, extending one of his fingers and guided his hand downwards. He took control from there on, sliding his digit to the point she wanted. He knew he had reached it when she closed her eyes and sighed. He began to work from there, pressing small circles around the area. He soon slid a second digit in and pressed even harder.

"Oh god, oh..." She moaned as the ground beneath them began to crumble.

"Stop. Now. I need you..oh god.." She breathed in his ear. He took the signal and hoisted her up onto the edge of the bookcase. She rucked her skirt up to her waist and wrapped her knees and ankles around his waist and buttocks. He looked into her eyes and she nodded. He aligned himself, teasing her opening with the tip of his erection. She moaned, anticipation becoming unbearable.

"Don't make me beg." She whispered. He suppressed a smile and allowed himself to enter her. His completed the action with just one long thrust and she gasped as he filled her, his own gasp suppressed. They met each other for a kiss and her hair fell as a curtain over their faces. They broke apart when he began to thrust, just slowly to begin with. She tipped her head back into the shelf, panting as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. He increased his speed, taking note from her knees pressed against his waist. She could no longer suppress her cries and they rung out through the cacophony of creaking of the bookcase and Sherlock's own moans of pleasure. She came with a shout soon followed by him. They writhed in each other's ecstasy, inhibitions dissolved like aspirin in water. They came to a halt and pushed their foreheads together, staring into each other's eyes.

"Don't we look a mess." She breathed into his ear. Her dress lay around her waist, the material pooled in shimmering likeness to water. Her breasts her still exposed and now too was her upper thighs and her sex. His trousers were also around his knees, his buttocks bare and his shirt barely covering them. He laughed to himself and she joined him. A sudden turning of a handle whipped both of their heads up in surprise. Mycroft entered the room without looking up. Molly hurriedly pulled the front of her dress up and Sherlock yanked his trousers up. Mycroft looked up, shocked by what he found. His shock soon transformed into amusement.

"My my little brother, what have we been doing?"


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Molly's embarrassment was obvious, her face turning an unattractive shade of red. She slid off the bookcase and continued to sort herself, still reeling after her climax. Small tendrils of her hair had stuck to her forehead, caught in the perspiration produced by their time in the library. Sherlock seemed decidedly bored with his brother:  
"Do shut up Mycroft. Just because you can meddle in government doesn't mean you can meddle here."  
Mycroft, seeming unfazed by his brother's words, continued into the room sitting himself down at the desk about two foot from where she and Sherlock stood. He rested his elbows on the arm rests and tipped his fingers together to form a point.  
"Anyhow, Mother's asleep if you care. She's put you in the cavalry house on the west side of the garden. You have the complex to yourself, just to let you know and the kitchen is fully stocked."  
Sherlock's face brightened slightly at the prospect of the cavalry house. Molly had no idea what a cavalry house was nor why he was so elated at its mention. He buttoned his trousers and zipped his fly without breaking eye contact with Mycroft, taking molly's hand once he had completed the action.  
"Thank you dear brother." He said, pulling a sarcastic smile at his older sibling. "Tell mother we shan't be joining you for breakfast tomorrow and please, don't disturb us." And with that he gave a slight nod and dragged Molly out of the study, through the waiting room and out into the hallway.  
He pulled her in for a kiss to which she giggled and placed her hand on his chest, gently raising her heels off the ground to meet his lips.  
"To your satisfaction, i presume?" Sherlock grumbled into the small space between them. "In the library I mean."  
"Hmm, I should think so. You've been listening then, during my tutoring." Molly said quietly, biting her bottom lip ever so slightly. She knew he found it endearing.  
"Of course, one cannot learn without the correct tutoring." He retorted, snaking his delicate fingers her back and zipping up the dress for her. She let go of the front of her dress and kissed his cheek, taking hold of his hand once again.  
"Now, what and where is this coach house we're staying in?" She queried.  
"It used to house groomsmen who managed the carriages. Mother converted it into a guest house a few years ago. I'm sure you'll find it very accommodating." Sherlock answered nonchalantly.  
"It's a ten minute walk across the grounds. I assume your bag is not unnecessarily heavy."  
Molly began picturing what the cavalry house might be like, hoping that it was not decorated in the same choking mahogany as the main house. It was dark outside, and combined with the dim lighting and dark furnishings the house felt oppressive. He tugged her through the front door, grabbing her handbag from the coat rack as he left. He took her keys out along with her mobile, switching it off with a touch of a button.  
"Wha-"  
"I said I wished for us not to be disturbed. Did you not hear me instructing Mycroft?" He scolded whilst pointing her car key at the small economy car in the far left of the driveway. The locks clicked and he opened the boot, still grasping her hand. He took the suitcase, a traditional leather affair handed down from her grandmother, and closed the boot with force, not even turning to face to lock the car as he strode over the darkened lawn. The evening's events had made Molly jittery within her stomach and she giggled as he pulled them into the abyss of black that lead them to the cavalry house. They remained silent for the duration of the journey, only broken by the soft giggles of Molly and the occasional loud breath of Sherlock as his foot lost its place. The light of the cavalry house suddenly flooded the dark. A two floor, almost town house size complex, complete with door step and shrubbery. They wandered up to the door, still holding hands and he put down her suitcase, lifting the doormat to find a Yale key. They entered into the hallway, dropping her bag by the pine coat stand in the corner. He pulled her into a room on their left, seeming to be a modern kitchen. Pine cupboards garnished the walls and monochrome chequered tiles filled the spaces. The stainless steel cooker and fridge seemed barely touched, and the granite top island in the centre was pristine. Large bay windows, silled with a dining set in pine, looked out onto the varse expanse of black. Small lights under the mounted cupboards cast a vague soft glow over the whole room. Without noticing, Sherlock had removed his clasp on her hand and had retreated to the fridge.  
"Wine?" He asked, mentioning to the bottle of red in his hand.  
"Uh, yeah go on then." She replied, leaning over the granite top. She was still recounting the library in her mind, his touch, his scent. She didn't need the wine. She already felt giddy.  
Sherlock presented her with a glass of wine, just enough to feel warmth but not enough to become intoxicated. He poured himself one as well. Molly looked up in surprise, he always denied the frivolity of alcohol, deeming it to be a constraint on his mental ability. He almost cringed at the taste, wondering why such a monopoly spinning product could taste so bitter and why, only a few years earlier, he had become so dependent upon it. She shrugged it off, tonight had been one of firsts.  
"What was it like to grow up here?" She asked, peeping her eyes above the rim of the glass as she sipped.  
"You've already asked me that." He replied, the irritation in his voice adding edge.  
"Oh come on! You must have had some fun here. Christmas dinners gone wrong, family mishaps." She probed.  
"No. As you can see, we don't allow much room for insolent mistakes." He said, the irritation still clinging.  
She felt sorry for him: burning pity in the bottom of her belly.  
"I didn't mean to annoy you. It's just...well you knew what my childhood was like as soon as you saw me the day we met. Not all of us have your skill, Sherlock. I want to know more about you."

He looked up into her concerned eyes. He refused to hurt her again, since that dreadful Christmas drinks party at the flat. Her expression bore into him like hot iron and he let his barricade fall.  
He told her of Eton, of Mycroft's ever near presence resembling the form of his father whom he never saw. The development of the skill that would, in future, produce him a career. Of Cambridge, describing the people who bored him, the ones who lusted for him. Each anecdote acting as a solvent to his icy barriers, each falling one by one as the evening drew on. Molly sat there in awe. She had never seen this side of Sherlock, he almost seemed, dare she thought it, human. Both of their glasses had been topped up once, and now only the dregs were left. Her head was pleasantly light, but not out of control. She had been interjecting her short replies all evening and with the added encouragement of alcohol, she leaned in on the granite work top.  
"What was your first time like?" She asked, staring at the peak of his lips, smiling very slightly.  
He cleared his throat.  
"Are you sure you want to know? I am familiar with the usual rivalry between sexual partners."  
She nodded, still staring at his angular lips.  
"It was at Cambridge, organised by one of the people I could stand. He managed to find out about my lack of experience in the field, and took it into his hands to give me an opportunity. The woman he arranged was obviously paid, she had a history of alcoholism and both of her parents had died of heart disease. All glaringly obvious from the collar of her coat.  
It took me far longer than average to become prepared. Once we finally got round to the task she made far too much noise for the small effort I was putting in. The whole facade was fairly boring, and she left within the hour." He smiled to himself, remembering he felt neither loss nor gain from the experience. Simply boredom.  
He failed to notice Molly's dilated pupils and deepened breathing. She was incredibly aroused with the account of his first time, her nipples already beginning to harden for the second time that evening. She was millimetres from his face now, and their foreheads were barely touching. He chuckled, staring into her chocolate eyes.  
He sent her over the edge.  
"Oh god I can't take it anymore." She said, barely moving her lips. She almost launched herself through the tiny distance and collided with his lips. She reached up and cupped his cheek, knocking her wine glass in the process. They closed the distance between their bodies, excluding the corner of granite that had kept them separated. He placed his hands on her waist and she snaked her hands round the back of his head, intertwining her fingers within his hair. She gently fisted his hair, tugging it, creating tension but not pain: A weak point of his she had picked up in their fourth lesson. He roughly pulled her body closer, their torsos crushed together. His tongue laced her lip and she allowed entry, their mouths becoming as one. He broke the kiss and took her hand, guiding her out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He grabbed her suitcase from beside the coat stand and pulled her up the stairs. On the landing, he dropped the suitcase and turned to her. She passionately kissed him, driving him back against the wall of the hallway. Still kissing, she ripped his bow tie off and began unbuttoning his shirt, his hands place firmly on her waist. She ran a hand over his marble torso, feeling the ridges of his defined muscles. It still sent shivers down her spine. He slipped off his shoes and socks silently, congratulating himself on picking shoes slightly too big.  
He shrugged off his shirt and blazer, letting them fall to the floor. He clumsily guided her to the bedroom, not wanting to let his touch leave her. She pushed him down onto the bed, and undid his trousers pulling them down. His cock was half erect, glaringly obvious in his black boxers. She straddled him, sitting over his groin. She left her weight on her knees not wanting to cause him pain. She leant down to kiss him bracing her arms either side of his head and transferred a fraction of her weight onto her hips. She ground and rotated her hips, his cock pushing into her. He groaned, bucking his hips up ever so slightly with each rotation. She sighed between their kisses, feeling the heat growing more and more within her sex. She could feel the moisture begin for form there too.  
He was getting closer and closer with each wave of movement from her hips. Once he was close, she pulled herself off him and dismounted the detective. She dashed to her suitcase, finding the midnight blue ribbon that she had planned to pin in her hair tomorrow. She smiled, running the silk like material between her fingers. She ran back into the room and saw him sitting up; His hair dishevelled and his pupils dilated. With one delicate finger she pushed him back down onto the bed. She straddled him once more and placed his hands above his head. She took the ribbon and tied his wrists to the iron work headboard of the bed, relishing the look of surprise on his face. She had been planning this for some time, reading the technique in the sex advice pages of her magazine. The object was to take control from the usual dominant participant. Him.  
She dismounted him and he watched as she stood beside the bed. Slowly, she reached behind her back and unzipped the dress fully, pulling down over her hips and letting it pool around her feet. She now stood naked before him and his teeth clenched in frustration, tugging at the midnight bandages around his wrists. She walked over to him and tugged gently at the waistband of his boxers. He obeyed and lifted his hips up, letting her pull them down to his calves and off. She walked round to the side again, his eyes still watching her and began to feel the split between her thighs and pushed her fingers inside. She could feel her moisture on the pads of her fingertips. The experience she had gained from the years pre Sherlock meant she found the spot quickly, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as she pushed hard with her fingers.

"Molly" He said through gritted teeth.

She could hear him pull at the restraints, the head board of the bed creaking at his attempts. His grunts of frustration echoed throughout the room, he was desperate to help her, to feel her warmth on his fingertips.

"Molly, plea-" His frustration was beginning to boil over.

Her moans were beginning to protrude from her chest, meaning she was close. Her head tilted further back as she came with a loud moan. She reluctantly withdrew her fingers with a small whimper.

"Molly, please." He hoarsely choked.

She kept her head tilted back and her eyes closed. She smiled slightly to herself, enthralled by his desperation. He couldn't take his torture anymore, his back arched and his heels dug into the mattress and teeth still gritted and struggling at the ribbon. Her own desperation for him was beginning to overshadow her attempt at dominance, and she straddled him once more but placing herself just above his groin. His initial sigh of relief was wiped by the groan of tension at her lack of cooperation. He could feel her thighs on his hip bones and the heat between them. Her hand lay on his torso, and she lowered herself down to kiss him. Their kiss was contained, civil even, chaste. Still touching at the lips she shuffled her knees and teased her opening with the tip of his cock. He groaned again, extending his neck to passionately kiss her and she sank down onto him, taking his full length in one swift motion. Their moans were muffled by each other's lips and she ground her hips into him. He bucked his hips in synchronisation with her, releasing conscious thought and allowing his body to control his mind. They broke their kiss and both tipped their heads back, eyes half closed. She came with a scream, her body jerking and thigh muscles releasing their clasp around his hips. He followed suit soon after, his mouth in a small 'o' shape. She collapsed onto him, panting as her aftershocks came one after the other.

They lay there together; their breaths and her occasional moan only breaking the silence. She pulled herself off him and flopped onto the bedspread beside him, her sex was incredibly tender. Her forehead was damp and her hair clung to her temple, she looked over to him noticing his dark curls plastered to his forehead too. The profile of his angular features made her chest ache with affection and she watched him as he lay there panting. He gently closed his eyes, steadying his breaths and relaxing his muscles.

"Molly, you could be helpful and release my wrists." He murmured, barely opening his mouth.

"Oh god, yeah course." She giggled, propping herself up on her elbow, undoing the ribbon and gently stroking his right wrist. He chuckled slightly, rubbing the red indents with each thumb.

"My my, Miss Hooper. That was fairly impressive, I must say. Bravo." He turned to face her, staring at her sweet nose and large brown eyes. Their smiles faded, and they were left gazing at each other, their thoughts running parallel in mutual silence. He was left dumbfounded by her ordinary beauty; the small mouse facade was just an endearing front. But by no means was she a feisty or overly aggressive. She was just wholly beautiful. Her underrated intelligence and kindness was the embodiment of her character, her aesthetic beauty only illuminated that quality.

She observed his eyes, the impressive collage of sea foam shades she had come to take for granted. The perfect peaks of his lips, the hollow of his cheeks, and the small wisps of black stooping just to his eyebrows. She felt the affection for him sit deep within her stomach, their continuing gaze piling more of the emotion onto the blazing inferno. She shifted over on the bed ever so slightly, and placed a delicate peck on his lips. He reached over with the arm he wasn't lying on and draped it over her waist, curling his wrist so his hand lay on her back.

"I don't know about you, but I'm knackered. You will sleep tonight, promise me?" She said into the small distance between them.

"I should think so. I find myself rather exhausted." He replied, closing his eyes a little. She grinned; she adored it when they slept together. He usually would wander around her flat most times, reordering her case files or her bookshelf. It was even worse when he didn't have a case.

Molly yanked at the duvet, prompting him to sit up. He slid back down under the covers but kept his torso propped up against the ironwork head board. She wandered over to her suitcase and pulled out an oversized t-shirt sporting a picture of Eeyore saying 'I HATE MONDAYS'. It didn't give her full modesty, but enough to cover her most delicate parts.

"Oh why must you insist on wearing that infernal t-shirt with that ridiculous animal? A donkey could hardly experience depression let alone have the capability of detesting a certain day of the week."

"Do you realise how ridiculous you sound? Must you always go on about it?"

"Fine. But I am sure you have other attire which would satisfy both decency and my tastes."

She gave him a withering look as he opened the covers for her. She scooted over to him, curving her back into his torso. He wrapped his arm around her, quickly pecking her on the part of her shoulder which the t-shirt had not covered and they fell asleep in harmony, their breathing sending each other into hazy sleep.


End file.
